


Call Your Boyfriend

by flazy2



Series: Shameless One Shots [10]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anger, Angst, Cheating, Cum Eating, Explicit Dialogue, Hand Job, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Smut, hook ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flazy2/pseuds/flazy2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet at a bar, hook up that very same night. Six months later, Ian wants more, but Mickey's unwilling to move forward.</p>
<p> Especially when there's still a boyfriend in the picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Your Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this after taking some cold medicine and waiting for the drowsiness to take effect. I have no fucking clue what this is.  
> Inspired by Robyn’s ["Call Your Girlfriend"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F6ImxY6hnfA). I'm not sure how, but it is. I even used a few lines from the song in the dialogue.
> 
> This is my first time writing angst _and_ smut, so I hope it’s okay.

He raps his knuckles against the door a few times, and waits for the other man to open it. The lock clatters as it’s unlocked from the inside, the door opens, letting the light from inside bathe the dim hallway he’s standing in. 

The dark-haired man cocks an eyebrow and steps aside to let the redhead in, going through the same steps they always do. His coat is removed, a beer is offered, and then the rest of their clothes come off. 

Every time. 

It’s been nearly six months of this- _whatever_ -this is. 

They’d met at a bar, and after some short back and forth, they’d gone back to Mickey’s apartment and fucked, twice. 

That should have been it, but of course the redhead came back for more. Mickey doesn’t _do_ repeats. But it _had_ been a really good fuck, so he’d given in. Since then he’d been back nearly every week. It wasn’t until their third time that Ian, that was his name, let slip that he had a boyfriend. 

And that’s when they’d had to set up their rules. 

1\. No kissing on the mouth
2\. No sleepovers
3\. No talking about _the boyfriend_ 


Mickey doesn't give a shit; he does not do relationships; fuck and run, that’s his motto, so their situation was ideal for him. All the benefits of a good, hard fuck without the added relationship bullshit that comes along with it. 

But now, six months later, Ian has to go and fuck everything up. 

They were in the beer phase of the night, not yet to the fucking, but past all the bullshit small talk. 

He picks at the label of the bottle, tearing it here and there anxiously. “You ever think about more?” he asks. 

Leaning against the couch, the dark haired man just looks at him, “More what?” 

“More _this_ ,” he says, gesturing between the two of them. 

“No.” he replies firmly. 

The redhead rolls his eyes, “Come the fuck on, Mickey. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about doing other things besides fucking.” 

“With you?” he asks. “No.” 

And okay, that stung a little, but he wasn’t about to give up that easily. “I’ve been thinking about telling him.” He says pointedly. “About us.” 

Mickey scoffs, “There is no _us_.”

“Then what is this?” the redhead questions. 

Mickey stalks toward Ian slowly, a predatory look in his eye. Ian finds himself backing up until he bumps into the living room wall, hand still clutched around the beer bottle. “This,” the dark haired man says, resting his arm on the wall next to Ian's head and sticking his other hand out and grabbing the taller man’s crotch through his jeans, “is a good time. There’s no reason to go and ruin it.” 

Ian stifles a moan as he feels his hand palming his semi through his jeans. Suddenly his fly is unzipped; Mickey shoves his hand inside, finding that the redhead had forgone the underwear, as he always did. Immediately he grabs his cock, giving it a few strokes in the confined space of his jeans. “You don’t wanna ruin this, do you?” he says evilly. 

With his breath picking up at the feel of Mickey’s warm hand wrapped around his cock, Ian breaths out, “I know you want to. I can tell.” He moans. “Otherwise why have that shitty rule about not talking about him?” he grunts, biting his lip. “Unless you’re jealous. Is that what it is? You’re jealous?” 

Mickey scoffs, but continues his ministrations of the redhead’s cock. Pulling him out of his jeans, he gives him a few long strokes, watching as Ian let’s his head roll back against the wall behind him. “Maybe I just don’t want to be reminded about what a shitty person you are,” he says. 

He snaps his head back down, looking Mickey in the eye. “The fuck does that mean?” he says before he huffs out another moan. He can feel the sweat collecting on his forehead. 

“Well,” he starts, while he continues jerking the redhead off, “you’re standing here in my apartment with your cock in my hand while your boyfriend thinks you’re _where_ , exactly?” 

His eyes narrow as he looks at Mickey. “That’s none of your fucking business. I thought you didn’t want to talk about him? It’s one of your precious rules, isn’t it?” he spits out. 

Mickey twists his hand while he strokes his cock, eliciting a moan from the redhead. “Tell me about him.” 

He runs his thumb across the slit, making him shudder. “When was the last time you fucked him?” he moves his other hand from the wall and brings it down to cup his balls, rolling them roughly. “When he sucks your cock, does he let you cum in his mouth? Does he swallow it like I do? Or does he spit it out like a pussy?” 

Ian bites his lip in pleasure, attempting to stifle his sounds. “Does he know about that spot on your left thigh that makes you moan when I bite it?” Another twist of his wrist and the redhead’s knees buckle slightly. “Or is that only for me?” 

At this point Ian is breathing heavily, he can feel his damp shirt stick to his back as he leans against the wall. The familiar warm coiling in his belly signals that he’s close. “You” he pants out, “just you.” 

“I thought so.” He switches from his right hand to his left, bringing it up and spitting into his palm a few times, not breaking eye contact with the redhead. He brings his spit-slicked hand back to his hard, leaky cock. He strokes harder now, willing the redhead to come for him. 

A few strokes more and Ian shuts his eyes, clenching his jaw as he feels himself unraveling, he bring the hand not holding the bottle up to lean against Mickey, pulling him closer, close enough to kiss. But he doesn’t do that. Breathing in each other’s air, he can tell he’s being watched, even with his eyes closed. 

“Come,” Mickey says, almost a whisper. If his face hadn’t been so close he wouldn’t have been sure he’d heard anything at all. 

Upon hearing the command, he lets go, spilling into the other man’s hand, feeling his cock glide slicker against his palm as it’s coated in his seed. 

Mickey pushes him back up against the wall; Ian hadn’t noticed that he’d been practically leaning on him until now. He feels Mickey take a few steps back, so he opens his eyes and watches him, just as he’s bringing his hand up and running his tongue across his palm lewdly, tasting the redhead. 

Mickey doesn’t break eye contact as he continues running his tongue across his palm, eating the remainder of his cum off of it. Mickey's slurps the only sounds in the quiet apartment. A few licks more and it’s practically clean. He brings it down to wipe the spit off on his jeans. 

Ian’s still having trouble regulating his breathing, his cock still hanging out of his pants. But he continues the conversation from earlier. “What do you mean I’m a shitty person?” he tries to ask angrily, it’s difficult to sound angry while you’re gulping in air roughly and you’re still hanging out of your pants. 

Mickey’s mouth hardens into a line, his eyes narrowing at the question. “Why now?” He asks. “Why today? All this time, and _now_ you bring this shit up.” 

Shaking his head angrily, he continues. “You just gonna call your boyfriend up and tell him what?” 

“Everything,” he replies. “That I don’t love him anymore, haven’t for a while; and I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I met someone else who makes me _feel_ something. I’ll still be his friend, if he wants.” 

Mickey snorts, “You still think he’ll wanna be your friend after this? That’s bullshit; you can’t have your cake and eat it too. You’re cheating on him and you didn’t have the balls to say anything.” 

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Ian says angrily, “You think you’re so much better than me or something? It takes two to cheat, asshole. Didn’t see you backing off when you found out about him.” 

The dark-haired man rolls his eyes, “Don’t give a fuck about him. _Still_ don’t." He crosses his arms in a show of indifference, "Don’t understand what you see in him.” 

Ian glares and grinds his teeth. “ _He_ isn’t afraid to kiss me,” he spits out. 

His eyes snap to the other boy's, a hard scowl on his face, “You don’t understand _shit_.” 

Ian feels a chill on his exposed skin, he zips his pants back up after tucking himself in. Now it’s his turn to stalk Mickey back against the wall. “Oh, I understand alright. You’re a _pussy _” he says, poking his chest with his finger. “You’re afraid of letting people get close, so you lash out and hurt them first, before they have a chance to hurt you. You’re doing it right now.”__

Mickey levels him with a hard stare, “Fuck you, why don’t you go cry to Sean about it, I’m sure he’d love to hear all about it.” 

Mickey had only heard his name once, that time so many months ago when they’d had to establish the rules. He didn’t want to be reminded of what he was doing every time he came over, so it made it easier to forget. 

“Fuck you, Mickey,” he spits out. 

“Not anymore you don’t,” he says, the words dripping with venom. “Get the fuck out.” 

Ian shakes his head in anger, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair he’d set it on earlier, he slips it on. 

Turning to give Mickey one more hard gaze and shaking his head in anger, he speaks lowly, “One day, you’re gonna want this; maybe not from me, but you will. I just hope they give you the chance that you’re not giving me.” 

He continues walking to the door, not bothering to check if Mickey will try to stop him 

  


* * *

  


Thirteen days. 

Thirteen day since the last time he saw Mickey. Usually he met up with him every week under the guise of a book club with some work friends. Of course the fictional book club would always pick a book Ian had already read, to maintain his alibi. 

He’d stewed for days, lashing out and being an all-around asshole to Sean. He felt bad about hurting him, but to be honest, he didn’t have the same feelings towards him anymore. They had been together nearly two years, and yes, he still cared for him, but it wasn’t the same as it had been in the beginning. Nowadays they barely even touched, unless they were lying in bed together, and even then it never went any further than that. 

At this point it was more for convenience than anything else. They lived together; they had a joint bank account, bills in both their names, their lives too entwined to easily drop everything. He cursed himself every time he allowed Sean to attach himself further. 

After the argument with Mickey he tried being a better boyfriend, focusing more on the relationship, but if anything, it did just the opposite. He felt himself hating anything Sean did, resenting everything he said. 

So on the thirteenth day since he’d seen Mickey, he sat Sean down and told him. 

Everything. 

Frankly, he’d expected more of an outburst, especially once he told him it had been going on for nearly 6 months, but all he had done was calmly told him to get out. 

All it did was remind him of how boring he was, and how unexcited he felt around him. 

Now, nearly 10pm, an hour after the breakup, he’s standing outside Mickey’s door, duffel bag in hand, filled with a few changes of clothing and a toothbrush. 

He can hear voices beyond the thick, wooden door, but he can’t make anything out. He knocks hard, and waits. 

He can feel the heavy footfalls of whoever is walking towards the door as they reverberate across the floor. 

The lock clatters as it’s unlocked. The door opens, except on the other side of it, there’s no Mickey. It’s a tall, muscular man, dark blond hair cascading down the side of his face, not necessarily attractive, but built, strong looking. He takes a pull from his beer bottle and offers a “hey” at the redhead. 

His stomach tightens when he sees him. 

Thirteen days. 

Thirteen _fucking_ days is all it had taken Mickey to find another fuck buddy. He can feel the angry burning behind his eyes, but he can’t let this guy see him cry. So he simply says, “Sorry, wrong apartment,” before turning around and walking across the hall and down the stairs to the empty street outside. 

  


* * *

  


Iggy shuts the door in confusion just as Mickey is walking out of the bedroom, the large bag of weed he’d been looking for in his hand. 

“Who was that?” he asks his brother. 

He shrugs, “Some redhead, said he had the wrong apartment.” 

Mickey’s step falters. “What?” he asks again, this time as he’s making his way to his front door. He throws it open, but doesn’t find anyone in the hallway. He rushes down the stairs and pushes the building door open; stepping into the cool, fall night. 

He glances around for any sign of the redhead, but comes up empty. He’s just about to head back inside when he spots a set of legs sticking out from the side of the next building over. He cautiously makes his way over, the closer he gets the clearer he can see that it is in fact the man he’s looking for. 

He’s leaning up against the brick building, his head cradled in his hands, with a black duffel bag sitting beside him. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” he asks sharply. 

Startled, the redhead looks up into the face of the man he’d come to look for, but instead had found another. He glances back at his feet where they lay sprawled out in front of him, “I told him.” 

Mickey gives an exasperated sigh. 

“He kicked me out,” Ian continues. 

Before Mickey has a chance to think about it, his mouth is already asking the question he doesn't mean to ask, “Need a place to stay?” 

Ian looks up at him, “What about your friend?” he asks curtly. 

Mickey quirks an eyebrow, “You mean my brother Iggy? I can tell him to leave.” 

Ian pushes himself up to stand in front of the dark-haired man. “Look, if the only reason you’re inviting me in is because you just want to fuck, then forget it.” He shakes his head in anger. 

Mickey rolls his eyes, placing his hand on the back of the redhead’s neck; he leans forwards, pulling his face down and pressing their lips together in a quick, chaste kiss. 

He pulls back, taking in the dazed expression on the taller man’s face followed by a wide grin. 

Turning to head back inside, he looks over his shoulder, “C’mon,” he says, as he leads the way back towards his apartment. 


End file.
